(100WordStory.org, a wonderful very-short-fiction site, encourages readers to write a story based on a photo prompt. I am pleased to be one of the featured stories on their latest photograph. I’ve posted my story below; read all four featured posts here.)
When we piled stones in the courtyard, the soldiers kicked them down. We planted flowers, the soldiers ripped them out. Monuments are forbidden. Monuments are memories, and that’s what the soldiers want to destroy—the past. One night we went in to Sergei’s trashed apartment: piles of urine-stained books the soldiers had pissed on; harmless canvases sliced with bayonets. We took the tattered chair where Sergei sat near his open door, welcoming anyone, sharing his wisdom and his life, and placed it in the courtyard. No epitaph. No ceremony. The soldiers ignored it, and we smiled behind their backs, victorious.